Apocalypse Redux

The first class of the day took Derek to an entirely new part of the academy. Not that he’d explored it that much, not beyond a general having found each of his previous classrooms, which had been pretty much all over, but somehow this latest one was in an entirely new place, through a nondescript door he’d walked past a good half-dozen times before finally realizing it was actually where he had to go, finding an entirely separate staircase, which led underground rather than into one of the higher floors.

And from there, he headed down, down, and down further.

… there was an elevator, wasn’t there? An elevator he’d missed?

Derek sighed. Hopefully.

But it was too late to head back up and go searching for it now, so continued on, reading the various signs on the walls.

Apparently, this place was where all the labs had been tucked away.

As he searched for the specific one he was supposed to be in five minutes from now, Derek also found himself walking past an elevator door. At least he’d know where the entrance up top was once he took it to get back … but at the same time, there’d clearly been an elevator to miss.

But eventually, he found what he was looking for, though, and entered the small-ish classroom, already filled, with only a single empty chair left.

And the teacher was already looking at him expectantly.

Ah, hell … Derek hurried to sit down, only then taking the time to actually look at the teacher.

He was a tall man, with a broad back and a wide grin plastered across his face more suited to a barkeper at the local pub greeting a regular than a teacher, the dissonance further exaggerated by the fact that he was wearing a naval uniform, the regular duty version, with his rank insignia making him a captain … unless Derek was wrong about that, which was a definite possibility.

“Good afternoon class. I’m Captain Maximillian Amos of the United Earth Navy, and for my many sins, I have been selected to teach you brats about the way things work up there.”

So Derek had been right, then.

He suppressed a grin that might be taken the wrong way. The class on space combat seemed like it would be pretty good. And even if it turned out to be bad, it should be entertaining.

“Uh, captain, by ‘sins’ you mean …” someone with more curiosity than sense began to ask before cutting themselves off.

But Amos shrugged.

“The Warspite was built specifically to match my personal [Skill]set, and since she got torn up fighting a [Raid Boss], the pencil pushers decided I was ‘available’ while she’s being fixed up.”

So not just a naval officer, but an experienced naval officer. Even better.

“Does that mean you’re a high-Level officer, then?” Derek asked. “[System]-wise, I mean?”

After all, people only got specialized ships once they had powerful [Skills] worthy of having a vessel designed around them.

Amos shrugged. “You could say that.”

Then, he grabbed a marker and started drawing on the whiteboard with it, sketching a rough image of a couple of guns, a wall of something, and some various, er, things attached to the wall.

It took him about a minute. For the first half, they were all watching him, but pretty quickly, the muttering started, only to cut off in an instant when he turned back to face the room, grin somehow even wider.

“Today, we’re going to be trying a bit of a practical exercise: I have some gear off Warspite that’s too heavily damaged to be fixed but still has one last gasp in it, a couple of point defense guns and a set of armor and defenses, and once we’re down there, you’ll have until the end of the lesson to put something together that can block the guns.”

On one hand, that sounded awesome. On the other hand, unless the others were literal geniuses who’d grown up with a wrench in hand, how the hell were they supposed to use wrecked gear at all?

Ergo …

“Do we get any help with the electrical stuff?” Derek asked.

Amos shook his head. “You won’t need it, I’ve got a [Skill] to make it work. The only thing you’ll have to do is arrange the available equipment properly. Now, follow me, everyone!”

He was already halfway out of the door before he motioned for them to move for the first time, prompting them all to practically jump to their feet.

Derek snorted inwardly. If it weren’t for the fact that Seoul Academy was careful in who it let teach its classes, he’d have had a hard time believing this was an actual military officer, at least not one who was technically “on duty,” which the current situation should count as.

And then they found themselves in a massive underground chamber that all but screamed “airplane hangar,” albeit one that looked like a “crash investigation” scene straight from an old police show, with scorched, ripped, and torn chunks of metal scattered all over the floor, a pair of car-sized contraptions that were likely the aforementioned point defense weapons sitting on one end, while a sheet of metal covered almost the entirety of the opposite wall, massive, paralell, gouges that were almost certainly clawmarks running down one side.

“Holy …” Derek muttered, freezing in place as he took it all in.

“If you think that’s bad, you should see the other guy,” Amos laughed. “We’d have gotten away without a single casualty too, but a dumbass sailor just had to drop a crate on his foot in the middle of the fight.”

It sounded like empty bravado, or perhaps a pointless boast, considering the state the ship had clearly wound up in, but the more Derek thought about it, the more impressive it was.

Something had eviscerated the ship, and the only injury had been an accident entirely disconnected from the actual fight? Either Amos was one of the best captains in the fleet, or the absolute luckiest, bar none.

“So, here’s how this is going to work,” Amos announced. “You have until ten minutes prior to end of class to take any of the gear available in this room, do whatever you want with it, as long as it keeps the guns from going through the armor.

“We’ve got two guns here, one particle beam, one laser, I’ll be firing them both until they break for good or a full minute has passed, whichever’s shorter.

“If you need to move something that’s too heavy for you, ask me, don’t try to lift something crazy and end up hurt out of pride.

“And, reminder, nothing needs to be hooked up; I can power everything for the duration of this exercise.

“But once again, this isn’t about rebuilding the hull the way it was; it’s about rebuilding it in a way that will let the armor keep out the laser and particle beam.”

“Anything?” Derek asked.

Amos nodded.

“Fine, I’ll stuff the barrels of the guns with scrap metal.”

He could have just done that, but that’d have ruined the point of the exercise, so he figured he’d talk about it, earn himself whatever class credit the captain was awarding for solutions, and then let the whole affair proceed as originally planned.

Amos burst out laughing. “Are you sure you’re not a member of the E-4 mafia who decided to spend his leave screwing with me?”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Uh, who?”

“The non-commissioned officers who are experts in getting shit done, and creatively interpreting orders,” Amos explained. “So, anyway, you solved it. But we’re going to go through with the exercise anyway.”

Derek turned to head after the others, but then, he realized something.

“Uh, Captain?” he asked.

“Shoot,” Amos replied.

“Aren’t we way too close for this to be a proper test?” Derek asked. “These guns are meant to be used across hundreds or even thousands of kilometers of distance, and we’re …” he glanced back at the guns, “… like maybe two hundred meters away? Or does the atmosphere blunt them that badly?”

“Actually, this place can be depressurized for tests like that, and I’ll be using the feature,” Amos said, gesturing at the guns. “Thing is, those are point defense weapons, they’re basically peashooters, and what you’re working with is battleship hull armor. Yeah, you’re way closer than you’d ever be in an actual fight, but you’re basically throwing the weakest guns in the navy against the toughest armor. The only reason it’s even a contest is the distance.”

Derek nodded and finally joined the other students, who were already arguing.

“I say we just stick everything to the plate,” one student offered.

“If that were enough, it wouldn’t be a challenge,” another interjected. “And if we stick too much crap to the outside, the laser’s going to throw it all against the armor as plasma and ruin the mirror.”